Lives of the Most Remarkable Criminals Who have been Condemned and Executed for Murder, the Highway, Housebreaking, Street Robberies, Coining or other offences

Lives of the Most Remarkable Criminals: Who have been Condemned and Executed for Murder, the Highway, Housebreaking, Street Robberies, Coining or other offences

Lives of the Most Remarkable Criminals - who have been condemned and executed for murder, the highway, housebreaking, street robberies, coining or ... 1535-1727: Classics from the Underworld)

Lives of the Most Remarkable Criminals : Who Have Been Condemned and Executed for Murder, the Highway, Housebreaking, Street Robberies, Coining or Other Offences... / Edited by Arthur L. Hayward

A Complete History of the Lives and Robberies of the Most Notorious Highwaymen, Footpads, Shoplifts and Cheats of Both Sexes: Previously published ... 1535-1727: Classics from the Underworld, 3)

Narratives of Women and Murder in England, 1680-1760: Deadly Plots

The English Rogue - described in the life of Meriton Latroon a witty extravagant being a complete history of the most eminent cheats of both sexes: ... 1535-1727: Classics from the Underworld, 2)

A General History of the Robberies and Murders of the Most Notorious Pirates - from their first rise and settlement in the Island of Providence to the ... 1535-1727: Classics from the Underworld, 4)

Key Writings on Subcultures, 1535-1727: Classics from the Underworld

mail was robbed (which was on a Sunday morning) at six or seven o'clockhe found a bundle of papers which he took up, and perceived them to be aparcel taken out of the Bristol mail, and therefore having perused themcarefully, and taken out of them such as he judged proper, he being atthat time out of business and in great want, put up the rest of them ina sheet of paper, directed to the Post Master General, and laid themdown in the box-house at Lincoln's Inn Fields, being afraid to go withthem to the office, because a great reward was offered for the robber.And that he, having changed a twenty-pound bank-note, paid five poundsof it away to his landlord, Mr. Marlow. He reflected also very severelyon the evidence given against him by Mr. Burton, which he said was thevery reverse of the truth. Burton having often solicited him to go uponthe highway as the shortest method of easing his misfortunes andbringing them both money.

As he persisted in averring the confession he made to be the truth, itwas objected to him that it was a story, the most improbable in theworld, that when a man had hazarded his life to rob the Bristol mail, heshould then throw away all the booty, and leave it in such a place asCovent Garden, for any stranger to take up as he came by; yet neitherthis nor anything else that could be said to him had so much weight asto move him to a free confession of his guilt, but on the contrary, hegave greater and more evident signs of a sullen, morose and reserveddisposition, spoke little, desired not to be interrupted, made generalconfessions of his sins, pleased himself with high conceits of theDivine Mercy, and endeavoured as much as possible to avoid conferenceswith anybody, and especially declined speaking of that offence for whichhe was to die.

When he first came to Newgate, the keepers had, it seems, a strongapprehension that he would attempt something against his own life, andupon this suspicion they were very careful of him, and enjoined a barberwho shaved him in prison to be so, lest he should take that occasion tocut his throat. Yet nothing of this happened until the day of hisexecution, when the keepers coming to him in the morning, found himpraying very devoutly in his cell; but about twenty minutes after, goingthither again, they perceived he had fastened his sword belt which hewore always about him to the grate of the window which looked out ofhis cell, to the end of which he tied his handkerchief, and having thenadjusted that about his neck, he strangled himself with it, and was deadwhen the keepers opened the doors to look in.

The Ordinary makes this remark upon his exit, that it is to be feared hewas a hypocrite and that little of what he said can be believed. For mypart, I am far from taking upon me either to enter into the breasts ofmen or pretend to set bounds to the mercy of God, and therefore withoutany further remarks, shall conclude his life with informing my readersthat at the time he put an end to his own being, he was aboutforty-eight years of age, and a man in his person and behaviour veryunlikely to have been such a one as it is to be feared (notwithstandingall his denials) he really was.

The Life of JOHN DOYLE, a Highwayman

When once men have plunged themselves so far into sensual pleasures asto lose all sense of any other delight than that arises from thegratification of the senses, there is no great cause of wonder if theyaddict themselves to illegal methods of gaining wherewith to purchasesuch enjoyments; since the want of virtue easily draws on the loss ofall other principles, nor can it be hoped from a man who has deliveredhimself over to the dominion of these vices that he should stop short atthe lawful means of obtaining money by which alone he can be enabled topossess them.

Common women are usually the first bane of those unhappy persons whoforfeit their lives to the Law as the just punishment of their offences;these women, I say, are so far from having the least concern whethertheir paramours run any unhappy courses to obtain the sums necessary tosupply their mutual extravagance, that on the contrary they are everready, by oblique hints and insinuations, to put them upon suchdangerous exploits which as they are sure to reap the fruits of, sosometimes when they grow weary of them, they find it an easy method toget rid of them and at the same time put money in their own pockets. Yetso blind are these unhappy wretches, that although such things fall outyearly, yet they are never to be warned, but run into the snare with asmuch readiness as if they were going unto the possession of certain andlasting happiness.

But to come to the adventures of the unhappy person whose life we aregoing to relate. John Doyle was born in the town of Carrough, inIreland, and of very honest parents who gave him as good education ascould be expected in that country, instructing him in writing andaccounts, and made some progress in Latin. When he was fit for a trade,his friends agreed to put him out, and not thinking they should find amaster good enough for him in a country place, they sent him to Dublin,and bound him to a tallow-chandler and soap-boiler in St. Thomas'sStreet, whom he faithfully served seven years, and his master gave him agood character. Being out of his time, his master prevailed with him towork journey-work for him, which he did for nine months; but having gotacquainted by that time with some of the town ladies and pretending tohis friends that he was in hopes of better business, his friendsremitted him fifty pounds to help him forward.

He lived well while that money lasted, but when it was almost spent, heknew not what to turn himself to, for working did not agree with him. Hetook a resolution to come to England, and on the 19th of April, 1715, hecame over in a packet-boat. Having no more money left than three poundsten shillings, and not seeing which way he could get a further supplyunless he went to work, which he could not endure, he resolved to rob onthe highway; and to fit him for it, he bought a pair of pistols at WestChester which cost him forty shillings. He continued in that city tillthe Chester coach was to go for London. At four miles distant from thetown he attacked it, and robbed four passengers that were in it offourteen pounds, six shillings and ninepence, two silver watches and amourning ring, which was the first attempt of that kind that ever hemade in his life; then he went off a by-way undiscovered.

Having got a pretty good booty, he travelled across the country toShrewsbury, and having stayed there about two days, he happened to meeta man that had been formerly a collector on the road, who had a horse tosell. He bought the horse for seven guineas, though indeed it was worthtwenty, as it proved afterwards; no man soever was master of a betterbred horse for the highway. He was not willing to stay long atShrewsbury, so he went from thence and going along the country, met twoladies in a small chaise, with only one servant and a pair of horses. Herobbed them of a purse with twenty-nine half guineas, nine shillings insilver and twopence brass, and two gold watches. The servant who rode byhad a case of pistols which he took from him, and then made offundiscovered. His horse at that time was much better acquainted withcoming up to a coach door than he was. Sometime afterwards he passedacross the country, and came to Newbury, in Berkshire, where heremained for about fourteen days, during which time he was very reservedand kept no company. But growing weary, he departed from that place thesame morning that the Newbury coach was to set out for London: and whenit was about five miles distant from the town of Newbury, he came up tothe coach door, and making a ceremony, as became a man of business,demanded their all, which they very readily consented to deliver, whichproved to be about twenty-nine pounds in money, a silver watch, a plainwedding ring, a tortoiseshell snuff box, and a very good whip.

There was also a family ring which a gentleman begged very hard for,whereupon by his earnest application he gave it back, and the manassured him he would never appear against him. He was a man of honour,for he happened to meet him some time after at the Rummer and Horseshoein Drury Lane, where he treated Doyle handsomely, and showed him thering, and withal declared that he would not be his enemy on any accountwhatsoever.

Doyle being at this time a young beginner, thought what he got for thepreceding time to be very well, and in a few days after this arrived atWindsor, where he stayed one night, and there being a gentleman's familybound for London, that lay that night at the Mermaid Inn in the town, hechanged his lodging and removed to the inn; and having stayed there thatnight, he minded where they put their valuable baggage up. The nextmorning he paid his reckoning and came away, and got about four milesout of the town before them; then coming up and making the usualceremony, he demanded their money, watches and rings. The gentleman inthe coach pulled out a blunderbuss, but Doyle soon quelled him byclapping a pistol to his nose, telling him that if he stirred hand orfoot he was a dead man. Then he made him give his blunderbuss first,then his money which was fifty guineas, fifteen shillings in silver, andfive-pence in brass, a woman's gold watch and a pocket book in whichwere seven bank-notes, which the gentleman said he took that day inorder to pay his servants' wages. After this he made the best of his wayto London and got into James's Street, Westminster, where he drank apint of wine, and then crossed over to Lambeth, and put up his horse atthe Red Lion Inn, and stayed there that night.

The next morning he came to the Coach and Horses in Old Palace Yard,Westminster, where he dined, and about seven at night departed fromthence and went to the Phoenix gaming-house in the Haymarket, to whichplace, he said, he believed a great many owe their ruin. He remainedsome time at the Phoenix, and seeing them gaming hard, he had a mind tohave a touch at it; when coming into the ring he took the box in histurn, and in about thirty minutes lost thirty-seven pounds, which brokehim. But having some watches about him, he went immediately to the ThreeBowls in Market Lane, St. James, and pawned a gold watch for sixteenguineas; and returning back to the Phoenix went to gaming a second time,and in less than an hour recovered his money and forty-three poundsmore. And seeing an acquaintance there he took him to the Cardigan'sHead tavern, Charing Cross, and made merry. That night he lay at theWhite Bear in Piccadilly, and stayed there until the next evening, afterwhich, having paid his reckoning, he went to Lambeth to his landlord whohad his horse in his care, and remained there that night. The nextmorning he went away having discharged the house.

Having then a pretty sum of money about him, he had an inclination tosee the country of Kent, and accordingly went that day to Greenwich, andput up his horse while he went to see the Hospital; and having baitedthe horse he parted from thence, and going over Blackheath, he happenedto meet a gentleman, who proved to be Sir Gregory Page. Doyle took whatmoney he had about him, which was about seventy guineas in a greenpurse, a watch, two gold seals and eighteen pence in silver. That nighthe rode away to Maidstone, and from thence to Canterbury.

In a few days he returned to London, and was for a long time silent,even for about six months, and never robbed or made an attempt to robany man, but kept his horse in a very good order, and commonly went inan afternoon to Hampstead, sometimes to Richmond, or to Hackney. Inshort, he knew all the roads about London in less than six months aswell as any man in England. His money beginning now to grow short, nothaving turned out so long, and the keeping his horse on the other handbeing costly, he resolved that his horse should pay for his own keeping,and turned out one evening and robbed a Jew of seventy-five pounds, andof his and his lady's watches, a gold box and some silver, and returnedto town undiscovered. The next day Doyle went Brentford way, and comingto Turnham Green stayed some time at the Pack Horse, where he saw twoQuakers on horseback. He rode gently after them till they got toHounslow Heath, where he secured what money they had, which wassomething above a hundred pounds. They begged hard for some money back,when he gave them a guinea, taking from them their spurs and whips, andat some distance threw them away. Those two men, as he found some daysafter by the papers, were two meal factors that were going to HighWycombe market in Buckinghamshire, to buy either wheat or flour.

This last being a pretty good booty, he had a mind afterwards to go forIreland and accordingly set out for his journey thither. He tookshipping at King's Road near Bristol, on board a small vessel bound toWaterford, where he arrived and stayed at the Eagle in Waterford threedays, and from thence went directly to Dublin. Doyle was not long inDublin before he became acquainted with his wife, whom he courted forsome time and was extravagant in spending his money on her. He also soongot acquainted with one N. B., a man now alive, and they turned outtogether. None was able to stand against them, for they had everythingthat came in their way, and in plain terms, there was not a man thatcarried money about him, within eight miles of Dublin, but if they methim they were sure to get what he had.

Being grown so wicked Doyle was at length taken for a robber andcommitted to Newgate, then kept by one Mr. Hawkins, who used him sobarbarously that he wished himself out of his hands. Accordingly he gothis irons off and broke out of the gaol. Hawkins knowing all thebums[97] in Dublin, sent them up and down the city to take him, but tono purpose. However, they rooted him fairly out of that neighbourhood.

Then he returned to Waterford, where he appointed his wife and friendshould meet him, which they did; and in about four hours after he camethere he found them out, and there being a ship bound for Bristol, hesent them on board, agreed with the captain and went himself on boardthe same night. They hoisted their sails and got down to the Passagenear Waterford, but the wind proving contrary, they were obliged toreturn back, and then concluded it was determined for Doyle to be taken;which he had been had he kept on board, but he luckily got on shore,when it was agreed to go to Cork. There they met with an honest cock ofa landlord, and he kept himself very private, making the poor manbelieve that his companion and he were two that were raising men for theChevalier's[98] service, and that their keeping so private proceededfrom a fear of being discovered. The poor man had then a double regardfor them, he being a lover in his heart of ----. Doyle then sent hiswife to seek for a ship; but Hawkins having pursued him from Dublin,happened to see her, and dogged her to the ship where she went on board,sending officers to search, for he was sure he should find him there. Hewas mistaken, but they took his poor wife up to see if they could makeher discover where he was, and ordered a strong guard to bring her toCork gaol. A boat was provided to bring her on shore, but she tellingthe men some plausible stories that her husband was not the man theyrepresented him to be, one of the watermen having stripped off hisclothes in order to row, and there being a great many honest fellows inthe boat, they assisted her in putting on waterman's clothes, which assoon as done, she fairly got away from them, and came and acquaintedDoyle that Hawkins was in town, and how she had been in danger. Theythen concluded on leaving Cork, hired horses that night, and came to aplace called Mallow, within ten miles of Cork. The next day theytravelled to Limerick, where Doyle bought a horse, bridle, etc., andwent towards Galloway, and in all his journey round about got but twoprizes, which did not amount to above fifteen pounds.

Sometime after, his wife was transported, which gave him a great deal ofconcern, and he could not be in any way content without her. So gettingsome money together he went to Virginia, and having arrived there soonmet with her, having had intelligence where to enquire for her. Thefirst house be came into was one William Dalton's, who had some daysbefore bought the late noted James Dalton,[99] who was then his servant,whom he very often used to send along with Doyle in his boat to put himon board a ship. Then he thought it his best way to buy his wife'sliberty, which he did, paying fifteen pounds for it.

He had then a considerable deal of money about him, and removed fromthat part of the country where she was known and went to New York. Beingarrived there he soon got acquainted with some of his countrymen, withwhom be had used to go a-hunting and to the horse races; so be spentsome time in seeing the country. By chance he came to hear of a namesakeof his, that lived in an island a little distant from New York, andbeing willing to see any of his name, he sent for him, and according toDoyle's request, he wrote to him that he would come the next day, whichhe did, and proved to be his uncle. The old man was overjoyed to seeDoyle, and carried him home with him, where he stayed a long time, andspent a great deal of money.

His uncle was very much affronted at Doyle's ill-treatment of thenatives, whom he severely beat, insomuch that the whole place was afraidof him, and all intended to join and take the Law of him. Soon after hedeparted from New York and went to Boston, where he remained some time,and at length he resolved within himself to settle and work at histrade, thinking it better to do so than to spend all his money, and beobliged to return to England or Ireland without a penny in his pocket.He did so, and having agreed with a master he went to work, and was verysaving and frugal.

He remained with that man till by his wife's industry he had got,including what was his own, about two hundred pounds English money. Thenhe advised his wife to go for Ireland in the first ship that was boundthat way, laying all her money out to twenty pounds, and shipped thegoods which he had brought on board for her account. She then went toIreland and Doyle for England, promising to go over to her as soon as hecould get some money, for he had then an inclination to leave off hisold trade of collecting.

Being arrived at London, he met with a certain person with whom hejoined, and as he himself terms it, never had man a braver companion,for let him push at what he would, his new companion never flinched oneinch. They turned out about London for some time, and got a great dealof money, for nothing hardly missed them. They used a long time theroads about Hounslow, Hampstead, and places adjacent, until the papersbegan to describe them, on which they went into Essex, and robbedseveral graziers, farmers and others. Then they went to Bishop'sStortford, in Hertfordshire, where they robbed one man in particular whohad his money tied up under his arm in a great purse. Doyle says that hehad some intelligence from a friend that the man had money about him, hemade him strip in buff, and then found out where he lodged it, and tookit, but he did not use him in any way ill, for he says it was the man'sbusiness to conceal it, as much as his to discover it.

Doyle and his partner hearing of a certain fair which was to be held afew days after, they resolved to go to it, and coming there took noticewho took most money. In the evening they took their horses, and aboutthree miles distant from the town there was a green, over which thepeople were obliged to come from the fair. There came a great manygraziers and farmers, whom they robbed of upwards of eight hundredpounds. At this time Doyle had in money and valuable things, such asdiamonds, rings, watches, to the amount of about sixteen hundred pounds.His partner had also a great deal of money, but not so much as Doyle, byreason that he (D) had got some very often which he had no right to havea share of.

Doyle went again for Ireland, and carried all his money with him, andhaving a great many poor relations, distributed part of it amongst them;some he lent, which he could never get again, and in a little his moneygrew short, having frequented horse races and all public places.However, before all was spent he returned to England. Following his oldcourse of life, he happened into several broils, with which a littlemoney and a few friends he got over. In a short space of time he becameacquainted with Benjamin Wileman. They two, with another personconcerned with them, committed several robberies. At length they werediscovered, apprehended and committed to Newgate. Wileman, it seems, hadan itching to become an evidence against Doyle and W. G. But Doyle madehimself an evidence, being really, as he said, for his own preservationand not for the sake of any reward.

Doyle's wife being for a second time transported, he went with her inthe same ship, and having arrived in Virginia, slaved there some time,until he began to grow weary of the place. But as he was always tooindulgent to her, he bought her her liberty, and shipped her and himselfon board the first ship that came to England, when in seven weeks timethey arrived in the Downs. Soon after they came up to England, but werenot long in town before his wife was taken up for returning fromtransportation, and committed to Newgate, where she remained until thesessions following, and being brought upon her trial, pleaded guilty.

When they came to pass sentence upon her, she produced his Majesty'smost gracious pardon, and was admitted to bail to plead the same, andthereupon discharged. Doyle, a short time after, went to the West ofEngland, where he slaved some time, following his old way of life; andassociating himself with a certain companion, got a considerable sum ofmoney, and came to Marlborough. And having continued some time in thatneighbourhood, they usually kept the markets, where they commonlycleared five pounds a day. Going from Marlborough they came toHungerford, and put up their horses at the George Inn; and havingordered something for dinner, saw some graziers on the road, but one ofthem being an old sportsman, and a brother tradesman of Doyle'sformerly, he knew the said Doyle immediately, by the description givenof him, and very honestly came to him, and told him that he had a chargeof money about him, and withal begged that he would not hurt him, sincehe had made so ingenuous a confession, desiring Doyle to make the bestof his way to another part of the country, telling him at the same timewhere he lived in London, and that if he should act honourably by him,he would put a thousand pounds in his pocket in a month's time.According to the grazier's directions, Doyle and his companionsdeparted, but having met, as Doyle phrases it, with a running chase intheir cross way, which they had taken for safety, they were obliged toreturn back into the main road again, and by accident put up at the sameinn where the grazier and his companions were that evening. The grazier,as soon as he saw Doyle, came in and drank a bottle with him, and thenretired to his companions, without taking any manner of notice of him.

As they came for London, they took everything that came into their net,and in three days time Doyle paid his brother sportsman, the grazier, avisit, who received him handsomely, and appointed him to meet him thenext market day at the Greyhound in Smithfield, in order to make goodpart of his promise to him. Doyle and his companion went to him, put uptheir horses at the same inn and passed for country farmers. Thisgrazier, who formerly had been one of the same profession being nowgrown honest and bred a butcher, was then turned salesman in Smithfield,and sold cattle for country graziers, and sent them their money back bytheir servants who had brought the cattle to town. Having drunk a glassof wine together, they began to talk about business, and the grazierbeing obliged to go into the market to sell some beasts, desired Doyleand his companion to stay there until he returned. When he came he gavethem some little instructions how they should proceed in an affair hehad then in view to serve then in, and having taken his advice, theyrode out of town; and it being a West Country fair they rode TurnhamGreen way.

They had not time to drink a pint of wine before the West Countrychapman came ajogging along. They took two hundred and forty pounds fromhim, making (as D. terms it) a much quicker bargain with him than he haddone with the butcher at Smithfield. The chapman begged hard for somemoney to carry him home to his family, and after they had given him twoguineas, he said to them that he had often travelled that road with fivehundred pounds about him, and never had been stopped. To which Doylereplied, that half the highwaymen who frequented the road were but mereold women, otherwise he would never have had that to brag of, and thenparted. Doyle says that the honest man at Smithfield had poundage of himas well as from the grazier, so that he acted in a double capacity.

That night they came to London, and having put up their horses, put onother clothes and went to Smithfield, where not finding the butcher athome, they write a note and left it for an appointment to meet him atthe Horn Tavern in Fleet Street, where they had not stayed long beforehe came. After taking a cheerful glass they talked the story over, andout of the booty Doyle gave turn fifty guineas, after which the butcherpromised to be his friend upon a better affair. After paying thereckoning they parted and appointed to meet the next market day atSmithfield.

They went at the time appointed, and having drank a morning glass,stepped into the market and stayed some time. Their brother sportsmanbeing very busy, he made excuse to Doyle and his companion, telling themthere was nothing to be done in their way till the evening, desiringthem to be patient. They remained in and about Smithfield till then, andmarket being entirely over, their friend came up to the place appointed,and showed them a man on horseback to whom he had just paid fiftypounds. Doyle and his companion immediately called for their horses,took leave of their friend, and kept in sight of the countryman until hewas out of town. And when he was got near the Adam and Eve, atKensington, they came up to him, and made a ceremony, as became men oftheir profession. He was very unwilling to part from his money, makingan attempt to ride away, but they soon overtook him, and after somedispute took every penny that he received in Smithfield, and for hisresiding gave him back only a crown to bear his charges home. In hismemoirs Doyle makes this observation, that they always robbed betweensun and sun, so that the persons robbed might make the county pay themthat money back if they thought fit to sue them for it.[100] Nextmorning Doyle and his companion came to the place appointed, and notmeeting with their brother sportsman sent for him, where they dranktogether, and talked as usual about business, paying him poundage out ofwhat money they had collected on his information (for they usually dealtwith him as a custom-house officer does by an informer); after whichthey parted for that time, and did not meet for a month after.

Afterwards they went up and down Hertfordshire, but got scarce moneyenough to bear their expenses; but where there were small gettings theylived the more frugally, for Doyle observed that if the country did notbear their expenses wherever he travelled, he thought it very hard, andthat if he failed of gaming one day, he commonly got as much the next ashe could well destroy.

Hitherto we have kept very close to those memoirs which Mr. Doyle leftbehind him, which I did with this view, that my readers might have someidea of what these people think of themselves. I shall now bring you tothe conclusion of his story, by informing you that finding himself besetat the several lodgings which he kept by way of precaution, he for somedays behaved himself with much circumspection; but happening to forgethis pistols, he was seized, coming out of an inn in Drury Lane, andthough he made as much resistance as he was able, yet they forced himunto a coach and conveyed him to Newgate. It is hard to say whatexpectations he entertained after he was once apprehended, but it isreasonable to believe that he had strong hopes of life, notwithstandinghis pleading guilty at his trial, for he dissembled until the time ofthe coming down of a death warrant, and then declared he was a RomanCatholic, and not a member of the Church of England, as he had hithertopretended.

He seemed to be a tolerably good-natured man, but excessively vicious atthe same time that he was extravagantly fond of the woman he called hiswife. He took no little pleasure in the relations of those adventureswhich happened to him in his exploits on the highway, and expressedhimself with much seeming satisfaction, because as he said, he had neverbeen guilty of beating or using passengers ill, much less of wounding orattempting to murder them. In general terms, he pretended to muchpenitence, but whether it was that he could not get over the naturalvivacity of his own temper, or that the principles of the Church ofRome, as is too common a case, proved a strong opiate in his conscience,however it was, I say, Doyle did not seem to have any true contritionfor his great and manifold offences. On the contrary, he appeared withsome levity, even when on the very point of death.

He went to execution in a mourning coach; all the way he read with muchseeming attention in a little Popish manual, which had been given him byone of his friends. At the tree he spoke a little to the people, toldthem that his wife had been a very good wife to him, let her characterin other respects be what it would. Then he declared he had left behindhim memoirs of his life and conduct, to which he had nothing to addthere, and from which I have taken verbatim a great part of what I haverelated. And then, having nothing more to offer to the world, hesubmitted to death on the first of June, 1730, but in what year of hisage I cannot say.

However, before I make an end of what relates to Mr. Doyle, it would beproper to acquaint the public that the vanity of his wife extended sofar as to make a pompous funeral for him at St. Sepulchre's church,whereat she, as chief mourner assisted, and was led by a gentleman whomthe world suspected to be of her husband's employment.

FOOTNOTES:

[97] i.e., bailiffs, informers and spies.

[98] The Pretender, whose name was only to be mentioned with baited breath.

[99] See page 533.

[100] Passengers robbed on the highway between sunrise and sunset, could sue the county for the amount of their loss, it being the duty of the officials to keep the roads safe.

The Life of JOHN YOUNG, a Highwayman

I have more than once remarked in the course of these memoirs that ofall crimes, cruelty makes men the most generally hated, and that fromthis reasonable cause, that they seem to have taken up an aversion totheir own kind. This was remarkably the case of the unhappy man of whomwe are now speaking.

He was, it seems, the son of very honest and industrious parents, hisfather being a gardener at Kensington. From him he received as good aneducation as it was in his power to give him, and was treated with allthe indulgence that could be expected from a tender parent; and it seemsthat after five years' stay at school, he was qualified for any businesswhatsoever. So after consulting his own inclinations he was put outapprentice to a coach-maker in Long Acre, where he stayed not long; butfinding all work disagreeable to him, he therefore resolved to be gone,let the consequence be what it would. When this resolve was once taken,it was but a very short time before it was put into execution. Livingnow at large, and not knowing how to gain money enough to supporthimself, and therefore being in very great straits, he complied with thesolicitations of some hackney-coachmen, who advised him to learn theirtrade. They took some pains to instruct him, employed him often, and inabout six months time he became perfect master of his business, anddrove for Mr. Blunt, in Piccadilly. His behaviour here was so honestthat Mr. Blunt gave him a good character, and he thereby obtained theplace of a gentleman's coachmen. In a short time he saved money andbegan to have some relish for an honest life; and continuingindustriously to hoard up what he received either in wages or vales[tips] at last by these methods he drew together a very considerable sumof money.

And then it came into his head to settle himself in an honest way oflife, in which design his father gave him all the encouragement that wasin his power, telling him in order to do it, he should marry an honest,virtuous woman. Whereupon, with the advice and consent of his parents,he married a young woman of a reputable family from Kentish Town, who,as to fortune, brought him a pretty little addition to his own savings,so that altogether he had, according to his own account, a very prettycompetency wherewith to begin the world.

For some time after his marriage he indulged himself in living withoutemployment, but finding such a course wasted his little stock very fast,he began to apply his thoughts to the consideration of what course wasthe most likely to get his bread in. After beating his brains for somelittle time on this subject he at last resolved on keeping apublic-house; which agreeing very well with his father's and relations'notions, he thereupon immediately took the King's Arms, in Red LionStreet, where for some time he continued to have very good business. Inall, he remained there about five years, and might in that time have gota very pretty sum of money if he had not been so unhappy as to growproud, as soon as he had anything in his pocket. It was not long,therefore, before he gave way to his own roving disposition, going overto Ireland, where he remained for a considerable space, living by hiswits as he expresses it, or, in the language of honest people, bydefrauding others.

But Ireland is a country where such sort of people are not likely tosupport themselves long; money is far from being plentiful, and thoughthe common people are credulous in their nature, yet tradesmen and thefolks of middling ranks are as suspicious as any nation in the world.The county of West Meath was the place where he had fixed his residencefor the greatest part of the time he continued in the island, but atlast it grew too hot for him. The inhabitants became sensible of his wayof living, and gave him such disturbance that he found himself under anindispensable necessity of quitting that place as soon as possibly hecould; and so having picked up as much money as would pay for hispassage, he came over again into England, out of humour with ramblingwhile he felt the uneasiness it had brought upon him, but ready to takeit up again as soon as ever his circumstances were made a little easy,which in his present condition was not likely to happen in haste.

His friends received him very coldly, his parents had it not in theirpower to do more for him. In a word, the countenance of the worldfrowned upon him, and everybody treated him with that disdain andcontempt which his foolish behaviour deserved. However, instead ofreclaiming him, this forced him upon worse courses. His wife, it seems,either died in his absence, or was dead before he went abroad, and soonafter his return he contracted an acquaintance with a woman, who was atthat time cook in the family of a certain bishop; her he courted and ashort time after, married. She brought him not only some ready money,but also goods to a pretty large value. Young being not a bit mended byhis misfortunes, squandered away the first in a very short time, andturned the last into ready money. However, these supplies were of notvery long continuance, and with much importunity his friends, in order,if it were possible, to keep him honest, got him in a small place inthe Revenue, and he was put in as one of the officers to surveycandles. In this post he continued for about a twelvemonth, and thenrelapsing into his former idle and profligate courses, he was quicklysuspected and thereby put to his shifts again, though his wife at thattime was in place, and helped him very frequently with money.

This, it seems, was too servile a course for a man of Mr. Young's spiritto take, so that he picked up as much as bought him a pair of pistols,and then went upon the highway, to which it seems the foolish pride ofnot being dependant upon his wife did at that time not a littlecontribute. In his first adventure in this new employment, he gotfifteen guineas, but being in a very great apprehension of a pursuit,his fears engaged him to fly down to Bristol, in order, if it werepossible, to avoid them. After staying there some considerable time, hebegan at last to take heart, and to fancy he might be forgotten. Uponthese hopes he resolved with himself to come up towards London again;and taking advantage of a person travelling with him to Uxbridge, hemade use of every method in his power to insinuate himself into hisfellow traveller's good graces. This he effected, insomuch that at HighWycombe, in Buckinghamshire, as Young himself told the story, heprevailed on him to lend him three half-crowns to defray his expenses,pretending that he had some friend or relation hard by who would repayhim. But unfortunately for the man, he had talked too freely of a sum ofmoney which he pretended to have about him. It thereupon raised aninclination in Young to strip him and rob him of this supposed greatprize; for which purpose he attacked him in a lone place, and not onlythreatened him with shooting him, but as he pretended, by his handshaking, was as good as his word, and actually wounded him in such amanner as he in all probability at that time took to be mortal; buttaking advantage of the condition in which the poor man was, he made thebest of his way off, and was so lucky as to escape for the present,although that crime brought him afterwards to his execution.

When he had considered a little the nature of the fact which he hadcommitted, it appeared even to himself of so black and barbarous anature that he resolved to fly to the West of England, in order toremain there for some time. But from this he was deterred by lookinginto a newspaper and finding himself advertised there; the man whom hehad shot being also said to be dead, this put him into such aconsternation that he returned directly to London, and going to a placehard by where his wife lived, he sent for her, and told her that he wasthreatened with an unfortunate affair which might be of the greatestill-consequence to him if he should be discovered. She seemed to beextremely moved at his misfortunes, and gave him what money she couldspare, which was not a little, insomuch that Young at last began tosuspect she made bold now and then to borrow of her mistress; but if shedid, that was a practice he could forgive her. At last he proposedtaking a lodging for himself at Horsely Down,[101] as a place thelikeliest for him to be concealed in. There his wife continued to supplyhim, until one Sunday morning she came in a great hurry and brought withher a pretty handsome parcel of guineas. Young could not help suspectingshe did not come very honestly by them. However, if he had the money hetroubled not his head much which way he came by it, and he had so good aknack of wheedling her that he got twenty pounds out of her that Sunday.

A very few days after, intelligence was got of his retreat, and the manwhom he had robbed and shot made so indefatigable a search after him,that he was taken up and committed to the New Gaol, and his wife, a verylittle time after, was committed to Newgate for breaking open her lady'sescrutoire, and robbing her of a hundred guineas. This was what Youngsaid himself and I repeat it because I have his memoirs before me. Yetin respect to truth, I shall be obliged to say something of anothernature in its due place; but to go on with our narration according tothe time in which facts happened.

A _Habeas Corpus_ was directed to the sheriff of Surrey, whereupon Youngwas brought to Newgate, and at the next sessions of the Old Bailey wasindicted for the aforesaid robbery, which was committed in the county ofMiddlesex. The charge against him was for assaulting Thomas Stinton, ina field or open place near the Highway, and taking from him a mare ofthe value of seven pounds, a bridle value one shilling and sixpence, asaddle value twelve shillings, three broad-pieces of gold and nineshillings in silver, at the same time putting the said Thomas Stinton infear of his life.

Upon this indictment the prosecutor deposed that meeting with theprisoner about seven miles on this side of Bristol, and being glad ofeach other's company, they continued and lodged together till they cameto Oxford; where the prisoner complaining that he was short of money,the prosecutor lent him a crown out of his pocket, and at Loudwater, theplace where they lodged next night, he lent him half a crown more. Thenext morning they came for London, and being a little on this side ofUxbridge, Young said he had a friend in Hounslow who would advance himthe money which he had borrowed from the prosecutor, and thereupondesired Mr. Stinton to go with him thither, to which he agreed; andYoung thereupon persuaded him to go by a nearer way, and under thatpretence after making him leap hedges and ditches, at last brought himto a place by the river side, where on a sudden he knocked him off hishorse, and that with such force that he made the blood gush out of hisnose and mouth.

As soon as Young perceived that the prosecutor had recovered his sensesa little, he demanded his money, to which Mr. Stinton replied, _Is thisthe manner in which you treat your friend? You see, I have not strengthto give you anything._ Whereupon Young took from him his pocket-book andmoney. And Mr. Stinton earnestly entreating that he would give himsomewhat to bear his expenses home, in answer thereto Young said, _Ay,I'll give you what shall carry you home straight_, and then shot him inthe neck, and pushing him down into the ditch, said, _Lie there._ Sometime after with much ado, Mr. Stinton crawled out and got to a house,but saw no more of the prisoner, or of either of their mares.

George Hartwell deposed that he helped both the prisoner and theprosecutor to the inn where they lay at Oxford. Sarah Howard deposedthat she kept the inn or house where they lodged at Loudwater the nightbefore the robbery was committed. And all the witnesses, as well as theprosecutor being positive to the person of the prisoner, the chargeseemed to be as fully proved as it was possible for a thing of thatnature to admit.

The prisoner in his defence did not pretend to deny the fact, but asmuch as he was able endeavoured to extenuate it. He said, that for hispart he did not know anything of the mare; that the going off the pistolwas merely accidental; that he did, indeed, take the money, andtherefore, did not expect any other than to suffer death, but that itwould be a great satisfaction to him, even in his last moments, that heneither had or ever intended to commit any murder. But those words inthe prosecutor's evidence, _I'll give you something to carry you home_,and _Lie there_ (that is in the ditch) being mentioned in summing up theevidence to the jury, Young, with great warmth and many asseverations,denied that he made use of them. The jury, after a very shortconsideration, being full satisfied with the evidence which had beenoffered, found him guilty.

The very same day his wife was indicted for the robbery of her mistress,when the fact was charged upon her thus: that she on a Sunday, conveyedYoung secretly upstairs in her mistress's house, where she passed for asingle woman; that he took an opportunity to break open a closet and tosteal from thence ninety guineas, and ten pounds in silver; a satinpetticoat value thirty shillings, and an orange crepe petticoat werealso carried off; and she asking leave of her lady to go out in theafternoon, took that opportunity to go quite away, not being heard offor a long time. Upon her husband being apprehended for the fact forwhich he died, somebody remembered her and the story of her robbing hermistress, caused her thereupon to be apprehended. Not being able toprove her marriage at the time of her trial, she was convicted, andordered for transportation. This was a very different story from thatwhich Young told in his relations of his wife's adventure, but when itcame to be mentioned to that unhappy man and pressed upon him, though hecould not be brought to acknowledge it, yet he never denied it; whichthe Ordinary says, was a method of proceeding he took up, becauseunwilling to confess the truth, and afraid when so near death to tell alie.

When under sentence of death, this unfortunate person began to have atrue sense of his own miserable condition; he was very far from denyingthe crime for which he suffered, although he still continued to denysome of the circumstances of it. The judgment which had been pronouncedupon him, he acknowledged to be very just and reasonable, and was so farfrom being either angry or affrighted at the death he was to die that onthe contrary he said it was the only thing that gave his thoughts ease.To say truth, the force of religion was never more visible in any manthan it was in this unfortunate malefactor. He was sensible of hisrepentance being both forced and late, which made him attend to theduties thereof with an extraordinary fervour and application. He saidthat the thoughts of his dissolution had no other effect upon him thanto quicken his diligence in imploring God for pardon. To all those whovisited him either from their knowledge of him in former circumstances,or, as too many do, from the curiosity of observing how he would behaveunder those melancholy circumstances in which he then was, he discoursedof nothing but death, eternity, and future judgment. The gravity of histemper and the serious turn of his thoughts was never interrupted in anyrespect throughout the whole space of time in which he lay undercondemnation; on the contrary, he every day appeared to have more andmore improved from his meditations and almost continual devotions,appearing frequently when at chapel wrapped up as it were in ecstasy atthe thoughts of heaven and future felicity, humbling himself, however,for the numberless sins he had committed, and omitting nothing whichcould serve to show the greatness of his sorrow and the sincerity of hiscontrition.

The day he was to die, the unfortunate old man his father, then upwardsof seventy years of age, came to visit him, and saw him haltered as hewent out to execution. Words are too feeble to express that impetuosityof grief which overwhelmed both the miserable father and the dying son.However, the old man, bedewing him with a flood of tears, exhorted himnot to let go on his hopes in Christ, even in that miserableconjuncture; but that he should remember the mercy of God was over allhis works, and in an especial manner was promised to those who werepenitent for their sins, which Christ had especially confirmed insealing the pardon of the repenting thief, even upon the cross.

At the place of execution he appeared scarce without any appearance ofterror, much less of obstinacy or contempt of death. Being asked what hedid with the pocket-book which he took from Mr. Stinton, and whichcontained in it things of very great use to him, Young repliedingeniously that he had burnt it, for which he was heartily sorry, butthat he did not look into or make himself acquainted with its contents.Just before the cart drew away, he arose and spoke to the people, andsaid, _The love of idleness, being too much addicted to company, and atoo greedy love of strong liquors has brought me to this unhappy end.The Law intends my death for an example unto others; let it be so, letmy follies prevent others from falling into the like, and let the shamewhich you see me suffer, deter all of you from the commission of suchsins as may bring you to the like fatal end. My sentence is just, butpray, ye good people, for my soul, that though I die ignominiously here,I may not perish everlastingly._

He was executed the first of June, 1730, being at the time aboutthirty-nine years of age.

FOOTNOTES:

[101] This district, at the Dockhead end of Tooley Street, was at that time a sort of No Man's Land, where horses were grazed and a few poverty-stricken wretches lived in sheds and holes in the ground.

The Life of THOMAS POLSON, _alias_ HITCHIN, a Footpad and Highwayman

Habit is the most dangerous of all evils. The transports of passion aresometimes prevented from having fatal effects, either by the precautionsof those with whom we quarrel, or because a sudden reflection of our ownminds checks our hand. But where men have abandoned themselves towickedness, and given themselves up to the commission of every kind ofevil without restraint, there is little hope to be entertained of theirever mending; and if the fear of a sudden death work a true repentance,it is all that can be hoped.

As for this unfortunate man of whose actions the course of our memoirsobliges us to treat, he was descended from parents who lived at Marlow,in the county of Salop, who were equally honest in their reputations,and easy in their circumstances. They spared nothing in the education oftheir son, and it is hard to say whether their care of him was more orhis application was less. Even while a child and at school he gave tooevident symptoms of that lazy, indolent disposition which attended himso flagrantly and was justly the occasion of all the misfortunes of hissucceeding life. Learning was of all things his aversion. It was withdifficulty that he was taught to read and write. As to employment, hisfather brought him up to husbandry and the business of a rural life.

When he was of age his father gave him an estate of twenty pounds _perannum_, freehold, and got him into a very good farm. He procured for himalso a wife, who had ten pounds a year more of her own, and settled himin such a manner that no young man in the country had a better prospectof doing well than himself. But, alas! to what purpose are theendeavours of others, where a man studies nothing so much as to compasshis own ruin? On a sudden he took a love to card-playing, and addictedhimself to it with such earnestness that he neglected his business andsquandered his money. Want was what of all things he hated, except work,and therefore rather than labour to retrieve, he bethought himself of aneasier way of getting money, and that was to steal.

His first attempt was upon his father, whom he robbed of a considerablesum of money. He not being in the least suspected, a poor maid who livedin the house bore the blame for about six months, and nobody in all thattime being charged with it but her, there was at last a design in theold man's head to prosecute her. This reaching young Polson's ear, heresolved not to let an innocent person suffer, which was indeed a veryjust and honourable act, whereupon he wrote an humble letter to hisfather, acknowledging his fault, begging pardon for his offences, anddesiring that he would not prosecute the poor woman, or suffer her to beany longer under the odium of a fact of which she had not the leastknowledge. This, to be sure, had its effect on his father, who was avery honest and considerate man. He took care to restore the wench toher good character and his favour, though for a while he with justreason continued to frown upon his son. At last paternal tendernessprevailed, and after giving him several cautions and much good advice,he promised, on his good behaviour, to forgive him what had past. Theyoung man promised fairly, but falling quickly into necessities, want ofmoney had its old effect upon him again, that is, impatient to be at hisold practices, tired with work, and yet not knowing how to get money,he at length resolved to go into Wales and steal horses.

This project he executed, and took one from one Mr. Lewis of aconsiderable value. He sold it to a London butcher for about sixteenpounds, at a village not far from Shrewsbury. That money did him alittle good, and therefore the next time he was in a strait he readilybethought himself of Wales. Accordingly he equipped himself with alittle pad, and out he set in quest of purchase. At a little inn inWales be met with a gentleman whom he had reason to suppose had moneyabout him, whereupon our highwayman was very industrious first to makehim drink, and then to get him for a bed-fellow, both of which designshe in the end brought to pass, and by that means robbed him of sixpounds odd money, taking care to go in the morning a different road fromwhat he had talked of, and by that means easily escaped what pursuit wasmade after him.

When he had committed this fact he retired towards Canterbury, givinghimself over entirely to thieving or cheating, on which design hetraversed the whole county of Kent, but found the people so cautiousthat he did it with very little advantage; until at last coming nearMaidstone, he observed a parcel of fine linen hanging upon a hedge. Heimmediately bethought himself that though the people were wise, yettheir hedges might be otherwise, upon which stepping up to it, he fairlystripped it of ten fine shirts, and so left the people who had washedthem to account for it. After this exploit, he made the best of his wayto London, where he speedily sold the stolen linen for five pounds to aLife Guardsman; and when he had spent a good part of it, down he wentinto Norfolk. And being afraid that the inhabitants would take notice ofa stranger setting up his abode there for any considerable time, hethought fit to pretend to be very lame. Having continued as long as hethought proper in this place, he took his opportunity to carry off afine mare out of the grounds of Sir John Habbard, Baronet, now the RightHonourable the Lord Blickling. This was one of the most dangerous featshe ever committed in his life, for the scent was so strong upon him, andso quickly followed, that he was forced to take a multitude of byways toget to London, where he set her up in the Haymarket. However he quicklyfound there was no possibility of disposing of her here, informationhaving been given of her to all the great jockeys; so that for presentmoney he was obliged to borrow four guineas of the man at the inn, andto leave her in his hands by way of security, which was making but apoor hand of what he had hazarded his life for.

By this time his father had received some intelligence of his way ofliving, and out of tenderness of its consequences, wrote to him assuringhim of forgiveness for all that was past, if he would come down into thecountry and live honestly. Such undeserved tenderness had some weighteven with our criminal himself, and he at last began to frame his mindto comply with the request of so good a father. Accordingly, down hecame, and for a little space, behaved himself honestly and as he shoulddo; but his old distemper, laziness quickly came in his way, and findingmoney not to come in so fast as he would have it, he began to think ofhis old practice again, and prepared himself once more to sally out uponhis illegal adventures. For this purpose taking with him a little mareof his brothers, for at that time he had no horse proper for the designshe went on, forth he rode in search of prey.

Wales was the place he first visited, and after riding up and down for agood while without meeting with any purchase worth taking, he at lastunluckily stumbled upon a poor old man in Flintshire, who had one footalready in the grave. From him he took a silver watch, worth about fivepounds, and five shillings in money, which was all the poor man had, andmaking thereupon the greatest haste he could out of the country, he gotclear away before it was discovered. After this he came again to London,where what little money he had he lavished away upon women of the town.

It was not long before want overtook him again, upon which he determinedto visit Yorkshire, in hopes of raising some considerable booty there.All the way down, according to his common practice, he bilked thepublic-houses, and at last arriving at Doncaster, began to set heartilyabout the work for which he came down. On a market day, he robbed an oldfarmer of forty shillings and a pair of silver buckles, taking his horsealso from him, which, when he had ridden about fifteen miles acrosscountry, he turned loose. He rambled from thence on foot, as well as hecould, in order to get into his native country of Shropshire, whereafter the commission of a multitude of such actions, none of whichafforded him any great booty, he arrived.

His father took him home again, and he lived for eleven months tolerablyhonest. However, to keep his hand in use, he now and then stole ashoulder of mutton, a joint which he particularly loved; but sometimesto please his father he would work a little, though it always went muchagainst the grain. At last he quarrelled with his wife, and thereuponthreatened to go away again, which very quickly after he did, turninghis course, notwithstanding his former ill-success into Yorkshire oncemore. He was at several of the races in that county, and having noparticular business at any place, did nothing but course the countryround, pilfering and stealing whatever came in his way; insomuch that atone inn, finding nothing else to lay his hands on, he stole the people'ssheets off the bed he lay in, and marched off in the morning so early,that he was out of danger before they perceived the theft.

But finding that he could not do any considerable matter amongst thepeople, who are cunning to a proverb, he bethought himself of returningto London, and the society of those strumpets in which he took adelight. However, all the way on the road he made a shift to pick up asmuch as kept him pretty well all the way. On his arrival in town he setup his place of residence in an inn near Leather Lane, Holborn, where heremained one whole day to rest himself after the fatigue of his northernjourney. There he reflected on the sad state in which his affairs were,being without money and without friends, justly disregarded by hisfriends in the country, and hated and despised by all his neighbours.His debts, too, amounted there to near a hundred and forty pounds, sothat there was no hopes in going back. The result of these cogitationswas that the next day he would go out on the road towards Hampstead, andsee what might be made there. He accordingly did so, but with very illsuccess. However, he returned a second time and had no better; the thirdday, towards evening, he observed an old gentleman in a chaise byhimself, whom he robbed of six guineas, a watch, a mourning-ring, andnine and sixpence in silver, and then making over the fields got homevery safe.

For three days he thought fit to remain within doors, under pretence ofsickness, fearing lest he should be advertised and described in thepublic prints; but finding nothing of that happened, he grew bold, andfor about fourteen nights continued the same trade constantly, getting,sometimes, two or three pieces, and sometimes losing his labour andgetting nothing at all. At length, waiting pretty late for an old man,who, as he was informed, was to come that night with eight hundredpounds about him, although he was so feeble that a child might be ableto take it from him, he at length grew impatient, and resolved to robthe first man he met. This proved to be one Mr. Andrews, who raised soquick a pursuit upon him that he never lost sight of him until the timeof his being apprehended, when he was carried to Newgate and prosecutedthe next sessions for the aforesaid robbery.

He was then indicted for taking from the said Thomas Andrews, afterputting him in fear, six or seven shillings in money, a bay mare, bridleand saddle, and a cane, on the 23rd of July, 1730. The evidence wasexceedingly clear, he having, as I have said, never gone out of sight,from the time of the robbery to the time he was taken. Under sentence ofdeath the prisoner behaved with great piety and resignation. He showedgreat concern for the offences of his former life, and testified theutmost sorrow for having blemished an honest family by the shame of hisvices and their just punishment. The night before his execution he wrotea letter to his parents in the country, which though it be written in avery uncouth style, yet I have thought fit to insert it _verbatim_,because there is a strain in it of unusual confusion and concern,expressing the agony of a dying man with more truth and tenderness thanthe best penned epistle could have done.

Honoured Parents,

My duty to both, my love to my brother-in-law. I wish to God I had been ruled by you, for now I see the evil of my sin, but I freely die, only the disgrace I have brought on you, my wife and children. I wrote to my wife last Saturday was seven night but had no answer, for I should have been glad to have heard from you before I die, which will be on Wednesday the seventh of this instant October, hoping I have made my peace with God Almighty. I freely forgive all the world, and die in charity with all people. Had it not been for Joyce Hite's sister and Mr. Howel, I might have starved, he told me it has cost him fifteen shillings on my account, and he gave me four more. I desire Thomas Mason will give my wife that locket for my son.

I have nothing more to say, but my prayers to God for you all day and night, and for God's sake, be as kind to my poor wife and children as in your power lies. I desire there might be some care taken of that Estate at Minton for my son. Mr. Botfield hath the old writings, and I beg you will get them and give them to my wife, and pray show her this letter and my love to her, and my blessing to my children, begging of her as I am a dying man to be good to them, and not make any difference in them, but be as kind to one as the other, and if she is able to put the boy to some trade. Mr. Waring and Thomas Tomlings have each of them a book of mine, pray ask for them, which is all I have to say, but my prayers to God for you all, which is all from your

Dying Son, Richard Polson. In my Cell. October the 6th.

P.S. My love to all my friends. Pray show this letter to my wife as soon as you can, and desire of her to bring up my children in the fear of the Lord, and to make my son a scholar if she is able. There is five of us to die.

In this disposition of mind, and without adding anything to his formerconfessions he suffered on the seventh of October, 1730, being then inthe thirty-third year of his age.

The Life of SAMUEL ARMSTRONG, a Housebreaker

I have heretofore remarked the great danger there is in having a badcharacter, and keeping ill-company, from the probability of truth whichit gives to every accusation that either malice or interest may inducemen to bring against one.

This malefactor was the son of parents in tolerable circumstances, whowere careful of his education, and when he grew up bound him apprenticeto Captain Matthews, commander of a vessel which traded to Guinea andthe West Indies. He behaved at sea very well, and had not the leastobjection made to his character when he came home. Happy had it been forhim if he had gone to sea again, without suffering himself to be taintedwith the vices of this great city.

Unfortunately for him, he fell in love with a young woman, and livedwith her for some time as his wife. His fondness for this creature drewhim to be guilty of those base actions which first brought him toNewgate and the bar at the Old Bailey, and so far blasted his characterand unfortunately betrayed him to his death. In the company of thisfemale he quickly lavished what little money he had, and not knowing howto get more, he fell into the persuasions of some wicked young fellowswho advised him to take to robbing in the streets. Certain it is that hehad not made many attempts (he himself said none) before he wasapprehended, and that the first fact he was ever concerned in wasstealing a man's hat and tobacco box in Thames Street. This wascommitted by his companion, who gave them to him, and then running away,left him to be answerable for the fact, for which being indicted at thenext sessions at the Old Bailey, he was found guilty, but it being asingle felony only it did not affect his life.

However, having been seen there by one Holland, who turned evidence, hethought fit to save his own life by swearing him into the commission ofa burglary which himself and one Thomas Griffith actually committed.However, his oath being positive, and the character of this unhappy ladso bad, the people who were robbed were induced to prosecute him withgreat vehemence, and the jury, on the same presumptions, found himguilty. Griffith, who received sentence with him but afterwards had apardon, acknowledged that he himself was guilty, but declared at thesame time that this unhappy young man was absolutely clear of what waslaid to his charge, Holland and himself being the only persons whocommitted that burglary, and took away the kitchen things which weresworn against him. Moreover, that Armstrong coming to Newgate, andseeing Holland and speaking to him about something, Holland took thatopportunity of asking who Armstrong was, and what he came there for,being told the story of his conviction for the hat and wig, he thoughtfit to add him to his former information against Griffith, and so byswearing against two, effectually secured himself. In this story boththe unhappy person of whom we are speaking and Thomas Griffith, who wascondemned for and confessed the fact agreed, and Armstrong went to deathabsolutely denying the fact for which he was to suffer.

At the place of execution his colour changed, and though at other timeshe appeared to be a bold young man, yet now his courage failed him, hetrembled and turned pale, besought the people to pray for his soul, andin great agony and confusion, submitted to death on the seventh day ofOctober, 1730, being at the time of his death about twenty-two years ofage.

The Life of NICHOLAS GILBURN, a Most Notorious Highwayman

This unfortunate person was born at Ballingary, near Limerick, in thewest of Ireland, of parents in very tolerable circumstances, who gavehim a very good education; but perceiving that he had a martialdisposition, they resolved not to cross it, and therefore, though he wasnot above fourteen years of age, got him recommended to an officer, whoreceived him as a dragoon. He served about four years with a very goodreputation in the army; but he had a brother who then rode in a regimentof horse, who wrote to him from London, and encouraged him to come overinto England, which occasioned his writing to his officer to desire hisdischarge. To this his officer readily agreed.

He went thereupon from the north of Ireland to the west, to his friend,where having equipped himself with clothing, linen and othernecessaries, he then came to London, expecting to meet his brother. Buton his arrival here he was disappointed, and that disappointment,together with his want of money, made him very uneasy. At last, in orderto procure bread, he resolved to list himself in the Foot Guards. He didso, and continued in them for about two years, during which time, hesays in his dying declaration, that he did duty as well, and appeared asclean as any man in the company; nay, in all that time, he avers that henever neglected his guard but once, which was very fatal to him, for itbrought him into the acquaintance of those who betrayed him to measureswhich cost him his life. For being taken up and carried to the Savoy forthe afore-mentioned offence, he had not been long in prison beforeWilson, who had been concerned with Burnworth, _alias_ Frazier, and therest in the murder of Mr. Ball in the Mint; and one Mr. G----, an oldhighwayman, though he had never conversed with him before, came to payhim a visit.

They treated him both with meat and drink, seemed to commiserate hiscondition very much, and promised him that he should not wanttwelvepence a day, during the time in confinement. This promise was verywell kept, and Gilburn in a few days obtained his liberty. The next dayhe met Wilson in St. James's Park, who after complimenting him upon hishappy deliverance, invited him to a house in Spring Gardens to drink andmake merry together. Gilburn readily consented, and after discoursing ofcourage, want of money, the miseries of poverty, and some otherpreparatory articles, Wilson parted with him for that time, appointinganother meeting with him at eleven o'clock the next morning. ThereWilson pursued his former topic, and at last told him plainly that thebest and shortest method to relieve their wants was to go on thehighway; and when he had once made this step, he scrupled not to make afurther, telling Gilburn that there was no such danger in thosepractices as was generally apprehended, for that with a little care andcircumspection the gallows might be well enough avoided, which he saidwas plain enough from his own adventures, since he had lived severalyears in the profession, and by being cautious enough to look about him,had escaped any confinement.

Gilburn heard this account with terror. He had never committed anythingof this kind hitherto, and knew very well that if he once engaged hecould never afterwards go back. Wilson seemed not at all uneasy at hispause, but artfully introducing discourse on other subjects, plied himin the meanwhile with liquor, until he saw him pretty warm, and thenresumed the story of his own adventures and of the facility of acquiringmoney when a man is but well stored with courage and has ever so littleconduct. This artifice unfortunately had its effect, Wilson'sconversation and the fumes of liquor prevailing so far upon Gilburnthat, as he himself phrased it, he resolved at last upon business.

The day following, Gilburn provided himself with pistols, and removedhis quarters to go and live with Wilson, who encouraged him with all thearguments he was able to stick to his new profession, and Gilburn inreturn swore he would live and die with him. So at night they went outtogether in quest of adventures. The road they took was towardsPaddington. A little after they were come into the fields, they attackeda gentleman and took from him eight shillings, with which Gilburn wasvery much pleased, though they had little luck after, so that theyreturned at last to their lodgings, weary and fatigued, and were obligedto mount guard the next morning. When their guard was over, they were,as Mr. Gilburn expresses it in his last speech, as bare as a bird'sarse, so no time was to be lost, and accordingly that very night theymade their second expedition. Nobody coming in their way, Gilburn beganto fret, and at last falling into a downright passion, swore he wouldrob the first man he met. He was as good as his word, and the booty hegot proved a tolerable provision for some days.

But guard-day drawing nigh again, Wilson told him there was no mountingwithout money, and the same methods were taken as formerly; but as theleagues by which men are united in villainy are liable to a thousandinconveniencies which are uneasily born, and yet hard to be remedied, soWilson's humours being very different from that of Gilburn, they soonbegan to differ about the money they acquired by plunder. At last,coming one night very much tired and fatigued to a public-house whereWilson was acquainted, they called for some drink to refresh themselves,which when they had done, Gilburn was for dividing the money, himselfstanding in need of linen and other necessaries. Wilson, on the otherhand, was for having a bowl of punch, and words thereupon arose to sucha height that at last they fell to fighting. This quarrel wasirreconcilable, and they absolutely parted company, though Gilburnunfortunately pursued the same road; and having robbed a gentleman onhorseback of several yards of fine padusoy, he was shortly afterapprehended and committed to Newgate.

At first he absolutely denied the fact, but when he was convicted, andsaw no hopes of pardon, he acknowledged what had been sworn against himby the prosecutor to be true, attended with much gravity at chapel, andseemed to be greatly afflicted through a due sense of those many sinswhich he had committed. Wilson, his companion, had a little before beenexecuted at Kingston, and Gilburn with all outward signs of contrition,suffered the same death at Tyburn, at the same time with thebefore-mentioned malefactor, being at the time of his death abouttwenty-two years of age.

The Lives of JAMES O'BRYAN, HUGH MORRIS and ROBERT JOHNSON, Highwaymenand Street-Robbers

Amongst the many flagrant vices of the present age, there is none moreremarkable than the strange property we see in young people to committhe most notorious crimes, provided they may thereby furnish themselveswith money enough to support their lavish expenses in vices which informer times were scarce heard of by lads of that age, at which ourboldest highwaymen begin to exert themselves now.

The first of these unfortunate lads, James O'Bryan, was born at Dublin,was brought over hither young, and had a good education given him whichhe had very little inclination to make a proper use of. Nothing couldpersuade him to go out to a trade; on the contrary, he pretended hewould apply himself to his father's employment, which was that of aplasterer. But as working was required, he soon grew out of humour withit, and addicted himself wholly to strolling about the streets with suchwicked lads as himself, and so was easily drawn in to think of supplyinghimself with money by the plunder of honest people, in order to carry onthose debaucheries in which, though a lad, he was already deeplyimmersed.

Women, forsooth, drew this spark away from the paths of virtue andgoodness at about sixteen years old, after which time he lost all senseof duty to his parents, respect of laws divine or human, and even careof himself. It seems he found certain houses in Chick Lane, where theymet abundance of loose young men and women, accustomed themselves toevery kind of debauchery which it was possible for wicked people tocommit or the most fruitful genius to invent. Here he fell into thecompany of his two companions, Morris and Johnson.

The first of these was the son of an unfortunate tradesman who had oncekept a great shop, and lived in good reputation in the Strand, butthrough the common calamities of life, he was so unfortunate as tobreak, and laying it too much to heart, died soon after it, happy,however, in one thing, that he did not live to see the deplorable end ofhis son by the hand of justice.

Robert Johnson was the son of honest parents, and had a very goodeducation, but put it to a very ill use; for having all his life timebeen addicted to pilfering and thieving, at last he fell into thecompany of these unfortunate young men who led him a directer way to thegallows than perhaps he might have found himself. One of his chiefinducements to forfeit reputation and hazard life by engaging in streetrobberies, was his commencing an amour with his father's servant-maid,and not long after falling into a multitude of such like adventures, theready road to inevitable ruin.

These three sparks, together with Bernard Fink, and another person whoturned evidence against them, came all at the same time to a resolutionof attacking people in the streets; and having provided themselves withpistols and whatever else they thought necessary for putting theirdesign in execution, they immediately set about it, and though but boys,committed bolder and more numerous robberies than had ever hitherto beenheard of. It may, indeed, seem surprising that lads of their age shouldbe able to intimidate passengers, but when it is considered that havingless precaution than older rogues, they were more ready at firingpistols or otherwise injuring those whom they attacked, than any set offellows who had hitherto disturbed the crown, this wonder will wear off.

It was not above two months that they continued their depredations, butin that time they had been exceedingly busy, and had committed amultitude of facts. One gentleman whom they attacked in Lincoln's InnFields, refused to surrender, and drew his sword upon Morris. That youngrobber immediately fired his pistol, and the rest coming to hisassistance, the gentleman thought it but prudent to retire, the noisethey made having alarmed the watch and so prevented his losing anything.

After this it became a very common practice with them, as soon as theystopped anybody, to clap a pistol under their nose, and bid them smellat it, while one of their companions, with a thousand execrations,threatened to blow their brains out if they made the least resistance.As soon as the business of the night was over, they immediatelyadjourned to their places of rendezvous at Chick Lane, or to otherhouses of the same stamp elsewhere, and without the least considerationof the hazards they had run, squandered the wages of their villainiesupon such impudent strumpets as for the lucre of a few shillingsprostituted themselves to them in these debaucheries.

Mr. O'Bryan was the hero of this troop of infant robbers; he valuedhimself much on never meddling with small matters or committing anymeaner crime than that of the highway. It happened he had a mistresscoming out of the country and he would needs have his companions takeeach of them a doxy and go with him as far as Windsor to receive her.They readily complied, and at Windsor they were all seized and fromthence brought to town, two of their own gang turning evidence, so thaton the clearest proof, they were all three convicted.

Under sentence of death they behaved with great audacity, seemed tovalue themselves on the crimes they had committed, caused severaldisturbances at chapel and discovered little or no sense of thatmiserable condition in which they were. O'Bryan died a Papist, and inthe cart read with great earnestness a book of devotions in that way. Hewrote a letter to his father the day before he died, and also somethingwhich he called verses to his sister, both of which I have subjoined_verbatim_ that my readers may have the better idea of the capacity ofthose poor creatures.

To Mr. Terrance O'Bryan, living in Burleigh Street in the Strand. Honoured Father and Mother,

The uneasiness I give you is more terror to me than the thoughts of death, but pray make yourselves as easy as you can, for I hope I am going to a better place; for God is my refuge and my strength, and my helper in time of tribulation, and pray take care of my brother now whilst he is young, and make him serve God, and keep him out of bad company. If I had served God as I ought to have done, and kept out of bad company, I had not come to this unhappy misfortune, but I hope it is for the good of my soul, it is good I hope what God has at present ordained for me, for there is mercy in the foresight of death, and in the time God has given me to prepare for it. A natural death might have had less terror, for in that I might have wanted many advantages which are now granted me. My trust is in God, and I hope he won't reward me according to my deserts. All that I can suffer here must have an end, for this life is short, so are all the sufferings of it, but the next life is Eternal. Pray give my love to my sister, and desire her not to neglect her duty to God. I hope you are all well, as I am at present, I thank God. So no more at present.

From your unhappy and undutiful son, James O'Bryan.

The verses sent by James O'Bryan to his sister two days before hisexecution:

My loving tender sister dear, From you I soon must part I fear. Think not on my wretched state, Nor grieve for my unhappy fate, But serve the Lord with all your heart, And from you He'll never part. When I am dead and in my tomb, For my poor soul I hope there's room, In Heaven with God above on high, I hope to live eternally.

At the time of their execution James O'Bryan was about twenty, HughMorris seventeen, and Robert Johnson not full twenty years of age, whichwas on the 16th of November, 1730.

The History of the Life and surprising adventures of JOHN GOW, _alias_SMITH, a most notorious Pirate and Murderer

The principal use to which a work of this nature can be applied is toengage persons to refuse the first stirrings of their passions, and theslighted emotions of vice in their breasts, since they see before theireyes so many sad examples of the fatal consequences which follow uponrash and wicked enterprises, of which the following history exhibits asextraordinary an instance as perhaps is anythere to be found.

In giving an account of this malefactor, we are obliged to begin withhis embarking on board the vessel which he afterwards seized and wenta-pirating in. It was called the _George_ galley, and was of about twohundred tons burden, commanded by Oliver Ferneau, a Frenchman, but asubject of the Crown of England, who entertained this Gow as a privateseaman only, but afterwards, to his great misfortune, preferred him tobe the second mate in the voyage of which we are next to speak.

Captain Ferneau being a man of reputation among the merchants ofAmsterdam, got a voyage for his ship from thence to Santa Cruz on thecoast of Barbary, to load beeswax, and to carry it to Genoa, which washis delivering port; and as the Dutch, having war with the Turks ofAlgiers, were willing to employ him as an English ship, so he was aswilling to be manned with English seamen, and accordingly among therest, he unhappily took on board this Gow with his wretched gang, suchas MacCauly, Melvin, Williams and others. But not being able to manthemselves wholly with English or Scots, he was obliged to take someSwedes, and other seamen to make his complement, which was twenty-threein all. Among the latter sort, one was named Winter, and anotherPeterson, both of them Swedes by nation, but wicked as Gow and his otherfellows were. They sailed from the Texel in the month of August, 1724,and arrived at Santa Cruz on the second of September following, wherehaving a super-cargo on board, who took charge of the loading, and fourchests of money to purchase it, they soon got the beeswax, on board, andon the third of November they appointed to set sail to pursue thevoyage.

That day the ship having lain two months in the road at Santa Cruz,taking in her lading, the captain made preparations to put to sea, andthe usual signals for sailing having been given, some of the merchantsfrom on shore, who had been concerned in furnishing the cargo, came onboard in the forenoon to take their leave of the captain, and wish him agood voyage, as is usual on such occasions. Whether it was concerted bythe whole gang beforehand, we know not, but while the captain wastreating and entertaining the merchants under the awning upon thequarter deck, as is the custom in those hot countries, three of theseamen, viz., Winter and Peterson, two Swedes, and MacCauly a Scotchman,came rudely upon the quarter deck as if they took the opportunitybecause the merchants were present, believing the captain would not useany violence with them in the presence of the merchants.

They made a long complaint of all their ill-usage, and particularly oftheir provisions and allowance, as they said, being not sufficient norsuch as was ordinarily made in other merchant ships, seeming to load thecaptain, Monsieur Ferneau, with being the occasion of it, and that hedid it for his private gain, which however had not been true. If thefact had been true, the overplus of provisions (if the stores had beenmore than sufficient) belonged to the owners, not to the captain, at theend of the voyage, there being also a steward on board to take theaccount. In making this complaint they seemed to direct their speech tothe merchants as well as to the captain, as if they had been concernedin the ship, or as if desiring them to intercede for them with thecaptain, that they might have redress and a better allowance.

The captain was highly provoked at this rudeness, as indeed he hadreason, it being a double affront to him as it was done in the view ofthe merchants who were come on board to him, to do him an honour atparting. However, he restrained his passion, and gave them not the leastangry word, only that if they were aggrieved they had no more to do butto let him have know of it; that if they were ill-used it was not by hisorder that he would enquire into it and if anything was amiss it shouldbe rectified, with which the seamen withdrew, seemingly well satisfiedwith his answer.

About five the same evening they unmoored the ship and hove short upontheir best bower anchor, awaiting the land breeze (as is usual on thatcoast) to carry them out to sea; but instead of that, it fell starkcalm, and the captain fearing the ship would fall foul of her ownanchor, ordered the mizen top-sail to be furled. Peterson, one of themalcontent seamen, being the nearest man at hand seemed to go about it,but moved so carelessly and heavily that it appeared plainly he did notcare whether it was done or no, and particularly as if he had a mind thecaptain should see it and take notice of it. Which the captain did, forperceiving how awkwardly he went about it, he spoke a little tartly tohim, and asked him what was the reason he did not stir a little and furlthe sail. Peterson, as if he had waited for the question, answered in asurly tone, and with a kind of disdain, _So as we eat, so shall wework._ This he spoke aloud, so that he might be sure the captain heardhim and the rest of the men also, and it was evident that as he spoke inplural numbers, _We_, so he spoke their minds as well as his own, andwords which they all agreed to before.

The captain, however, though he heard plain enough what he said, tooknot the least notice of it, or gave him the least reason to believe hehad heard him, being not willing to begin a quarrel with the men andknowing that if he took any notice at all of it, he must resent it andpunish it too.

Soon after this, the calm went off, and the land breeze sprang up, andthey immediately weighed and stood out to sea; but the captain havinghad these two bustles with his men just at their putting to sea, wasvery uneasy in his mind, as indeed he had reason to be; and the sameevening, soon after they were under sail, the mate being walking on thequarter deck, he went, and taking two or three turns with him, told himhow he had been used by the men, particularly how they affronted himbefore the merchants, and what an answer Peterson had given him on thequarter deck, when he ordered him to furl the mizen top sail. The matewas as surprised at these things as the captain, and after some otherdiscourse about it, in which it was their unhappiness not to be soprivate as they ought to have been in a case of such importance, thecaptain told him he thought it was absolutely necessary to have aquantity of small arms brought immediately into the great cabin, notonly to defend themselves if there should be occasion, but also that hemight be in a posture to correct those fellows for their insolence,especially should he meet with any more of it. The mate agreed that itwas necessary to be done, and had they said no more, or said this moreprivately, all had been well, and the wicked design had been much moredifficult, if not the execution of it effectually prevented.

But two mistakes in this part was the ruin of them all. First, that thecaptain spoke it without due caution, so that Winter and Peterson, thetwo principal malcontents, who were expressly mentioned by the captainto be corrected, overheard it, and knew by that means what they had toexpect if they did not immediately bestir themselves to prevent it. Theother mistake was that when the captain and mate agreed that it wasnecessary to have arms got ready, and brought into the great cabin, thecaptain unhappily bid him go immediately to Gow, the second mate andgunner, and give him orders to get the arms cleared and loaded for him,and to bring them up to the great cabin; which was in short to tell theconspirators that the captain was preparing to be too strong for them,if they did not fall to work with him immediately.

Winter and Peterson went immediately forward, where they knew the restof the mutineers were, and to whom they communicated what they hadheard, telling them that it was time to provide for their own safety,for otherwise their destruction was resolved on, and the captain wouldsoon be in such a posture that there would be no muddling with him.While they were thus consulting, as they said, only for their ownsafety, Gow and Williams came into them with some others to the numberof eight, and no sooner were they joined by these two, but they felldownright to the point which Gow had so long formed in his own mind,viz., to seize upon the captain and mate, and all those that they couldnot bring to join with them; in short, to throw them into the sea, andto go upon the account. All those who are acquainted with the sealanguage know the meaning of that expression, and that it is, in fewwords, to run away with the ship and turn pirates.

Villainous designs are soonest concluded; as they had but little timeto consult upon what measures they should take, so very littleconsultation served for what was before them, and they came to thisshort but hellish resolution, viz., that they would immediately, thatvery night, murder the captain and such others as they named, andafterwards proceed with the ship as they should see cause. And here itis to be observed that though Winter and Peterson were in the firstproposal, namely to prevent their being brought to correction by thecaptain, yet Gow and Williams were the principal advisers in the bloodypart, which however the rest came into soon; for, as I said before, asthey had but little time to resolve in, so they had but very littledebate about it but what was first proposed was forthwith engaged in andconsented to.

It must not be omitted that Gow had always had the wicked game ofpirating in his head, and that he had attempted it, or rather tried toattempt it before, but was not able to bring it to pass; so he andWilliams had also several times, even in this very voyage, dropped somehints of this vile design, as they thought there was room for it, andtouched two or three times at what a noble opportunity they had ofenriching themselves, and making their fortunes, as they wickedly calledit. This was when they had the four chests of money on board andWilliams made it a kind of jest in his discourse, how easily they mightcarry it off, ship and all. But as they did not find themselvesseconded, or that any of the men showed themselves in favour of such athing, but rather spoke of it with abhorrence they passed it over as akind of discourse that had nothing at all in it, except that one of themen, viz., the surgeon, once took them up short for so much asmentioning such a thing, told them the thought was criminal and it oughtnot to be spoken of among them, which reproof was supposed cost him hislife afterwards.

As Gow and his comrade had thus started the thing at a distance before,though it was then without success, yet they had the less to do now,when other discontents had raised a secret fire in the breasts of themen; for now, being as it were mad and desperate with apprehensions oftheir being severely punished by the captain, they wanted no persuasionsto come into the most wicked undertaking that the devil or any of hisangels could propose to them. Nor do we find that upon any of theirexaminations they pretended to have made any scruples or objections tothe cruelty of the bloody attempt that was to be made, but came to it atonce, and resolved to put it in execution immediately, that is to say,the very same evening.

It was the captain's constant custom to call all the ship's company intothe great cabin every night at eight o'clock to prayers, and then thewatch being set, one went upon deck, and the other turned in, or, asthe seamen phrase it, went to their hammocks to sleep; and here theyconcerted their devilish plot. It was the turn of five of theconspirators to go to sleep, and of these Gow and Williams were two. Thethree who were to be upon the deck were Winter, Rowlinson, and Melvin, aScotchman. The persons they immediately designed for destruction werefour, viz., the captain, the mate, the super-cargo, and the surgeon,whereof all but the captain were gone to sleep, the captain himselfbeing upon the quarter deck.

Between nine and ten at night, all being quiet and secure, and the poorgentlemen that were to be murdered fast asleep, the villains that werebelow gave the watch-word, which was, _Who fires next?_ At which theyall got out of their hammocks with as little noise as they could, andgoing in the dark to the hammocks of the chief mate, super-cargo andsurgeon, they cut all their throats. The surgeon's throat was cut soeffectually that he could struggle very little with them, but leapingout of his hammock, ran up to get upon the deck, holding his hand uponhis throat. But be stumbled at the tiller, and falling down had nobreath, and consequently no strength to raise himself, but died where helay.

The mate, whose throat was cut but not his windpipe, struggled sovigorously with the villain who attacked him that he got away from himand into the hold; and the super-cargo, in the same condition, gotforwards between decks under some deals and both of them begged with themost moving cries and entreaties for their lives. And when nothing couldprevail, they begged with the same earnestness for but a few moments topray to God, and recommend their souls to mercy. But alike in vain, forthe wretched murderers, heated with blood, were past pity, and not beingable to come at them with their knives, with which they had begun theexecution, they shot them with their pistols, firing several times uponeach of them until they found they were quite dead.

As all this, even before the firing, could not be done without somenoise, the captain, who was walking alone upon the quarter-deck, calledout and asked what was the matter. The boatswain, who sat on the afterbits, and was not of the party, answered he could not tell, but he wasafraid there was somebody overboard; upon which the captain steppedtowards the ship's side to look over. Then Winter, Rowlinson and Melvin,coming that moment behind him, laid hands on him, and lifting him up,attempted to throw him overboard into the sea; but he being a nimblestrong man, got hold of the shrouds and struggled so hard with them thatthey could not break his hold. Turning his head to look behind him tosee who he had to deal with, one of them cut his throat with a broadDutch knife; but neither was that wound mortal, for the captain stillstruggled with them, and seeing he should undoubtedly be murdered, heconstantly cried up to God for mercy, for he found there was none to beexpected from them. During this struggle, another of the murderersstabbed him with a knife in the back, and that with such a force thatthe villain could not draw the knife out again to repeat his blow, whichhe would otherwise have done.

At this moment Gow came up from the butchery he had been at betweendecks, and seeing the captain still alive, he went close up to him andshot him, as he confessed, with a brace of bullets. What part he shothim in could not be known, though they said he had shot him in the head;however, he had yet life enough (though they threw him overboard) totake hold of a rope, and would still have saved himself but they cutthat rope and then he fell into the sea, and was seen no more.

Thus they finished the tragedy, having murdered four of the principalmen in command in the ship, so that there was nobody now to oppose them;for Gow being second mate and gunner, the command fell to him, ofcourse, and the rest of the men having no arms ready, not knowing how toget at any, were in utmost consternation, expecting they would go onwith the work and cut their throats. In this fright everyone shifted forhimself. As for those who were upon deck, some got up in the round tops,others got into the ship's head, resolving to throw themselves into thesea rather than be mangled with knives and murdered as the captain andmate, etc., had been. Those who were below, not knowing what to do, orwhose turn it should be next, lay still in their hammocks expectingdeath every moment, and not daring to stir lest the villains shouldthink they did it in order to make resistance, which however they werein no way capable of doing, having no concert one with another, notknowing anything in particular of one another, as who was alive or whowas dead. Had the captain, who was himself a bold and stout man, been inhis great cabin with three or four men with him, and his fire-arms, ashe intended to have had, those eight fellows had never been able to havedone their work. But every man was taken unprovided, and in the utmostsurprise, so that the murderers met with no resistance; and as for thosewhat were left, they were less able to make resistance than the other,so that, as has been said, they were in the utmost terror and amazement,expecting every minute to be murdered as the rest had been.

But the villains had done. The persons who had any command weredispatched, so they cooled a little as to blood. The first thing theydid afterwards, was to call up all the eight upon the quarter deck,where they congratulated one another, and shook hands together, engagingto proceed by joint consent in their resolved design, that is, ofturning pirates. In older to which, they unanimously chose Gow tocommand the ship, promising all subjection and obedience to his orders,so that we must now call him Captain Gow, and he, by the same consent ofthe rest, named Williams his lieutenant. Other officers they appointedafterwards.

The first orders they issued was to let all the rest of the men knowthat if they continued quiet and offered not to meddle with any of theiraffairs, they should receive no hurt, but chiefly forbade any man to seta foot abaft the main mast, except they were called to the helm, uponpain of being immediately cut to pieces, keeping for that purpose oneman at the steerage door, and one upon the quarter deck with drawncutlasses in their hands. But there was no need for it, for the men wereso terrified with the bloody doings they had seen, that they neveroffered to come in sight until they were called.

Their next work was to throw overboard the three dead bodies of themate, the surgeon, and the super-cargo, which they said lay in theirway; that was soon done, their pockets being first searched and rifled.From thence they went to work with the great cabin and with all thelockers, chests, boxes and trunks. These they broke open and rifled,that is, such of them as belonged to the murdered persons, and whateverthey found there they shared among themselves. When they had done this,they called for liquor, and sat down to drinking until morning, leavingthe men, as above, to keep guard, and particularly to guard the arms,but relieved them from time to time as they saw occasion.

By this time they had drawn in four more of the men to approve of whatthey had done, and promised to join with them, so that now there weretwelve in number, and being but twenty-four at first, whereof four weremurdered, they had but eight men to be apprehensive of, and those theycould easily look after. So the next day, they sent for them all toappear before their new captain, where they were told by Gow what hisresolution was, viz., to go a-cruising or to go upon the account. Ifthey were willing to join with them and go into their measures, theyshould be well used, and there should be no distinction among them butthey should all fare alike; he said that they had been forced to do whatthey had done by the barbarous usage of Ferneau, but that there was nowno looking back; and therefore, as they had not been concerned in whatwas past, they had nothing to do but to act in concert, do their duty assailors, and obey orders for the good of the ship, and no harm shouldcome to any of them.

As they all looked like condemned prisoners brought up to the bar toreceive sentence of death, so they all answered by a profound silence,which Gow took as they meant it, viz, as a consent because they durstnot refuse. So they were then permitted to go up and down everywhere asthey used to do, though such of them as sometimes afterwards showed anyreluctance to act as principals, were never trusted, always suspectedand very often severely beaten. Some of them were in many ways inhumanlytreated and that particularly by Williams, the lieutenant, who was inhis nature a merciless, cruel, and inexorable wretch, as we shall haveoccasion to take notice of again in its place.

They were now in a new circumstance of life, and acting upon a differentstage of business, though upon the same stage as to the element, thewater. Before they were a merchant ship, laden upon a good account, withmerchants' goods from the coast of Barbary, and bound to the coast ofItaly; but they were now a crew of pirates, or as they call them in theLevant, Corsairs, bound nowhere but to look out for purchase and spoilwherever they could find it. In pursuit of this wicked trade they firstchanged the name of the ship, which was before called the _George_galley, and which they called now the _Revenge_, a name, indeed,suitable to the bloody steps they had taken. In the next place they madethe best of the ship's forces. The ship had but twelve guns mounted whenthey came out of Holland, but as they had six more good guns in the holdwith cartridges and everything proper for service (which they had instore through being freighted for the Dutch merchants, and the Algeriansbeing at war with the Dutch), they supposed they might want them fordefence. Now they took care to mount them for a much worse design, sothat now they had eighteen guns, though too many for the number of handsthey had on board. In the third place, instead of pursuing their voyageto Genoa with the ship's cargo, they took a clear contrary course, andresolved to station themselves upon the coasts of Spain and Portugal,and to cruise upon all nations; but what they chiefly aimed at was aship with wine, if possible, for that they wanted extremely.

The first prize they took was an English sloop, belonging to Pool,Thomas Wise commander, bound from Newfoundland with fish for Cadiz. Thiswas a prize of no value to them, so they took out the master, Mr. Wiseand his men, who were but five in number, with their anchors, cables andsails, and what else they found worth taking, and sunk the vessel. Thenext prize they took was a Scotch vessel, bound from Glasgow withherrings and salmon from thence to Genoa, and commanded by one Mr. JohnSomerville, of Port Patrick. This vessel was likewise of little value tothem, except that they took as they had done from the other, their arms,ammunition, clothes, provisions, sails, anchors, cables, etc., andeverything of value, and sunk her too as they had done the sloop. Thereason they gave for sinking these two vessels was to prevent theirbeing discovered, for as they were now cruising on the coast ofPortugal, had they let their ships have gone with several of their menon board, they would presently have stood in for shore, and have giventhe alarm, and the men-of-war, of which there were several, as wellDutch as English, in the river of Lisbon, would immediately have put outto sea in quest of them, and they were very unwilling to leave the coastof Portugal until they had got a ship with wine, which they very muchwanted.

After this they cruised eight or ten days without seeing so much as onevessel upon the seas, and were just resolving to stand more to the tothe coast of Galicia, when they descried a sail to the southward, beinga ship about as big as their own, though they could not perceive whatforce she had. However they gave chase, and the vessel perceiving it,crowded from them with all the sail they could make, hoisting up Frenchcolours, and standing away to the southward. They continued the chasethree days and nights, and though they did not gain much upon her, theFrenchman sailing very well, yet they kept her in sight all the whileand for the most part within gunshot. But the third night, the weatherproving a little hazy, the Frenchman changed her course in the night,and so got clear of them, and good reason they had to bless themselvesin the escape they had made, if they had but known what a dreadful crewof rogues they had fallen among if they had been taken.

They were now gotten a long way to the southward and being greatlydisappointed, and in want of water as well as wine, they resolved tostand away for the Madeiras, which they knew were not far off; so theyaccordingly made the island in two days more, and keeping a largeoffing, they cruised for three or four days more, expecting to meet withsome Portuguese vessel going in or coming out. But it was in vain, fornothing stirred. So, tired with waiting, they stood in for the road, andcame to anchor, though at a great distance. Then they sent their boattowards the shore with seven men, all well armed, to see whether itmight not be practicable to board one of the ships in the road, andcutting her away from her anchors, bring her off; or if they found thatcould not be done, then their orders were to intercept some of theboats belonging to the place, which carry wines on board the ships inthe road, or from one place to another on the coast. But they came backagain disappointed in both, everybody being alarmed and aware of them,knowing by their posture what they were.

Having thus spent several days to no purpose, and finding themselvesdiscovered, at last (being apparently under a necessity to make anattempt somewhere) they stood away for Porto Santo,[102] about tenleagues to the windward of Madeiras, and belonging also to thePortuguese. Here putting up British colours, they sent their boat ashorewith Captain Somerville's bill of health, and a present to the governorof three barrels of salmon, and six barrels of herrings, and a verycivil message, desiring leave to water, and to buy some refreshments,pretending to be bound to ----.

The Governor very courteously granted their desire, but with morecourtesy than discretion went off himself, with about nine or ten of hisprincipal people, to pay the English captain a visit, little thinkingwhat kind of a captain it was they were going to compliment, and whatprice it might have cost them. However, Gow, handsomely dressed,received then with some ceremony, and entertained them tolerably wellfor a while. But the Governor having been kept as long by civility asthey could, and the refreshments from the shore not appearing, he wasforced to unmask; and when the Governor and his company rose up to taketheir leave, to their great surprise they were suddenly surrounded witha gang of fellows with muskets, and an officer at the head of them.These told them, in so many words, they were the captain's prisoners,and must not think of going on shore any more until the water andprovisions which were promised should come on board.

It is impossible to conceive the consternation and surprise thePortuguese gentry were in, nor is it very decently to be expressed. Thepoor Governor was so much more than half dead with fright that he reallybefouled himself in a piteous manner, and the rest were in not muchbetter condition. They trembled, cried, begged, crossed themselves, andsaid their prayers as men going to execution, but it was all one, theywere told flatly that the captain was not to be trifled with, that theship was in want of provisions, and they would have them, or they shouldcarry them all away. They were, however, well enough treated, except forthe restraint of their persons, and were often asked to refreshthemselves; but they would neither eat not drink any more all the whilethey stayed on board, which was until the next day in the evening, whento their great satisfaction they saw a great boat come off from thefort, and which came directly on board with seven butts of water, a cowand a calf, and a good number of fowls.

When the boat came alongside and delivered the stores, Captain Gowcomplimented the Governor and his gentlemen, and discharged them totheir great joy, and besides that gave them in return for theirprovisions two cerons of beeswax, and fired them three guns at theirgoing away. It is to be supposed they would have a care how they went onboard any ship again, in compliment to their captain, unless they werevery sure who they were. Having had no better success in this out of theway run to the Madeiras, they resolved to make the best of their wayback again to the coast of Spain and Portugal. They accordingly leftPorto Santo die next morning with a fair wind, standing directly forCape St. Vincent or the Southward Cape.

They had not been upon the coast of Spain above two or three days,before they met with a New England ship, one Cross commander, laden withslaves, and bound for Lisbon, being to load there with wine for London.This was also a prize of no value to them, and they began to be verymuch discouraged with their bad fortune. However, they took out CaptainCross and his men, which were seven or eight in number, with most of theprovisions and some of the sails, and gave the ship to Captain Wise, thepoor man whom they took at first in a sloop from Newfoundland; and inorder to pay Wise and his men for what they took from them, and makethem satisfaction, as they called it, they gave to Captain Wise and hismate twenty-four cerons of wax, and to his men who were four in number,two cerons of wax each. Thus they pretended honesty, and to makereparation of damages by giving them the goods which they had robbed theDutch merchants of, whose super-cargo they had murdered.

The day before the division of the spoil they saw a large ship towindward, which at first put them into some surprise, for she camebearing down directly upon them, and they thought she had been aPortuguese man-of-war, but they found soon after that it was a merchantship, had French colours and bound home, as they supposed from the WestIndies; and so it was, for they afterwards learned that she was laden atMartinico and bound for Rochelle.

The Frenchmen not fearing them came on large to the wind, being a shipof much greater force than Gow's ship, carrying thirty-two guns andeighty men, besides a great many passengers. However, Gow at first madeas if he would lie by for them, but seeing plainly what a ship it was,and that they should have their hands full of her, he began to consider;and calling his men together upon the deck, told them what was in hismind, viz., that the Frenchman was apparently superior in force in everyway; that they were but ill-manned, and had a great many prisoners onboard, and that some of their own people were not very well to betrusted; that six of their best hands were on board the prize; and thatall they had left were not sufficient to ply their guns and stand by thesails, and that therefore as they were under no necessity to engage, sohe thought it would be next to madness to think of it.

The generality of the men were of Gow's mind, and agreed to decline thefight, but Williams, his lieutenant, strenuously opposed it; and beingnot to be appeased by all that Gow could say to him, or any one else,flew out into a rage at Gow, upbraiding him with being a coward, and notfit to command a ship of force. The truth is, Gow's reasoning was good,and the thing was just, considering their own condition; but Williamswas a fellow incapable of any solid thinking, had a kind of savage,brutal courage, but nothing of true bravery in him, and this made himthe most desperate and outrageous villain in the world, and the mostcruel and inhuman to those whose disaster it was to fall into his hands,as had frequently appeared in his usage of the prisoners under his powerin this very voyage. Gow was a man of temper, and notwithstanding allthe ill-language Williams gave him, said little or nothing but by way ofargument against attacking the French ship, which would certainly havebeen too strong for them; but this provoked Williams the more, and hegrew so extraordinary an height, that he demanded boldly of Gow to givehis orders for fighting, which Gow declining still Williams presentedhis pistol at him, and snapped it, but it did not go off, which enragedhim the more.

Winter and Peterson standing nearest to Williams, and seeing him sofurious, flew at him immediately, and each of them fired a pistol athim. One shot him through the arm, and the other into his belly, atwhich he fell, and the men about him laid hold of him to throw himoverboard, believing he was dead; but as they lifted him up, he startedviolently out of their hands, and leaped directly into the hold, andfrom thence ran desperately into the powder-room with his pistol cockedin his hand, swearing he would blow them all up. He had certainly doneit, if they had not seized him just as he had gotten the scuttle open,and was that moment going to put his hellish resolution into practice.

Having thus secured the distracted, raving creature, they carried himforward to the place which they had made on purpose between decks tosecure their prisoners, and put him amongst them, having first loadedhim with irons, and particularly handcuffed him with his hands behindhim, to the great satisfaction of the other prisoners, who knowing whata butcherly furious fellow he was, were terrified to the last degree tosee him come in among them, until they beheld the condition he came in.He was, indeed, the terror of all the prisoners, for he usually treatedthem in a barbarous manner, without the least provocation, and merelyfor his humour, presenting pistols to their breasts, swearing he wouldshoot them that moment, and then would beat them unmercifully, and allfor his diversion as he called it. Having thus laid him fast, theypresently resolved to stand away to the westward, by which they quittedthe Martinico ship, who by that time was come nearer to them, andfarther convinced them they were in no condition to have engaged her,for she was a stout ship and full of men.

All this happened just the day before they shared their last prize amongthe prisoners, in which they put on such a mock face of doing justice tothe several captains and mates and other men, their prisoners, whoseships they had taken away, and to whom now they made reparation, bygiving them what they had taken violently from another, so that it was astrange medley of mock justice made up of rapine and generosity blendedtogether.

Two days after this they took a Bristol ship bound from Newfoundland toOporto with fish. They let her cargo alone, for they had no occasion forfish, but they took out almost all their provisions, all the ammunition,arms, etc., and her good sails, also her best cables, and forced two ofher men to go away with them, and then got ten of the Frenchman on boardand let her go. But just as they were parting with her, they consultedtogether what to do with Williams the lieutenant, who was then among theprisoners and in irons. And after a short debate, they resolved to puthim on board the Bristol-man and send him away too, which accordinglywas done, with directions to the master to deliver him on board thefirst English man-of-war they should meet with, in order to get hisbeing hanged for a pirate, as they jeeringly called him, as soon as hecame to England, giving the master an account of some of his villainies.

The truth is, this Williams was a monster rather than a man. He was themost inhuman, bloody and desperate creature that the world couldproduce, and was even too wicked for Gow and all his crew, though theypirates and murderers, as has been shown. His temper was so savage, sovillainous, so merciless, that even the pirates themselves told him itwas time he was hanged out of the way.

One instance of the barbarity of Williams cannot be omitted, and will besufficient to justify all that can be said of him. When Gow gave it as areason against engaging with the Martinico ship, that he had a greatmany prisoners on board, and some of their own men that they could notdepend on, Williams proposed to have them all called up one by one, andto cut their throats and throw them overboard--a proposal so horrid thatthe worst of the crew shook their heads at it. Gow answered him veryhandsomely, that there had been too much blood spilled already; yet therefusing this, heightened the quarrel, and was the chief occasion of hisoffering to pistol Gow himself. After which his behaviour was such asmade all the ship's crew resolved to be rid of him, and it was thoughtif they had not had an opportunity to send him away, as they did by theBristol ship, they would have been obliged to have hanged himthemselves. This cruel and butchery temper of Williams being carried tosuch a height, and so near to the ruin of them all, shocked some ofthem, and as they acknowledged gave some check in the heat of theirwicked progress, and had they had an opportunity to have gone on shoreat that time, without falling into the hands of Justice, it is believedthe greatest part of them would have abandoned the ship, and perhaps thevery trade of a pirate too. But they had dipped their hands in blood,and Heaven had no doubt determined to bring them, that is, the chief ofthem, to the gallows for it, as indeed they all deserved, so they wenton.

When they put Williams on board the Bristol-man, and he was told whatdirections they gave with him, he began to relent, and made all theintercession he could to Captain Gow for pardon, or at least not to beput on board the ship, knowing that if he was carried to Lisbon, heshould meet with his due from the Portuguese, if not from the English;for it seems he had been concerned in some villainies among thePortuguese before he came on board the _George_ galley. What they werehe did not confess, nor indeed did his own ship's crew troublethemselves to examine him about it. He had been wicked enough amongthem, and it was sufficient to make them use him as they did. It wasmore to be wondered, indeed, that they did not cut him to pieces uponthe spot and throw him into the sea, half on one side of the ship, andhalf on the other, for there was scarce a man in the ship but on oneoccasion or other had some apprehensions of him, and might be said to goin danger of his life from him. But they chose to shift their hands ofhim this bloodless way, so they double fettered him and brought him up.When they brought him among the men, he begged they would throw himinto the sea and drown him; then entreated for his life with a meannesswhich made them despise him, and with tears, so that one time they beganto relent. But then the devilish temper of the fellow over-ruled itagain, so at last they resolved to let him go, and did accordingly puthim on board, and gave him many a hearty curse at parting, wishing him agood voyage to the gallows, which was made good afterwards, though insuch company as they little thought of at that time. The Bristol captainwas very just to him, for according to their orders, as soon as theycame to Lisbon, they put him on board the _Argyle_, one of His Majesty's